


Silence Like a Blanket

by hexburn (thestormapproaches)



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Long-Distance Relationship, Losing Finals, M/M, Rough Losses, discord calls, implied - Freeform, poor nemi ;-;
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:00:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23747212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestormapproaches/pseuds/hexburn
Summary: They lost.What else is there to say?They lost, and Tim is upset, and there's so much he could have done better because they lost.Nick wishes he wouldn't be so critical of himself.
Relationships: Nick "LS" De Cesare/Tim "Nemesis" Lipovšek
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	Silence Like a Blanket

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by ls mentioning that he called nemi after the series for an hour and a half and at least one hour was just silence

“I lost.”

Nick can’t suppress a snort. “Yeah, I know,” he retorts, “I was watching the games. Not the best look, huh?”

But there isn’t a response. The silence hangs in the air and the electronic connection between them, and Nick is so surprised at the eerie absence of sound that he does a double-take, setting down his food to check the Discord call.

“Tim? You there?”

The sigh that breaks the silence is even worse than the silence itself.

“Tim? Can you hear me? Is the connection bad or-”

“It’s fine.”

“Pouting after you lost finals or what?” Nick jokes again, trying to cheer Tim up in the typical way they do, making fun of all the things that hurt them.

Again, though, Tim just sighs, sounding less sad this time and more… frustrated? It sounds different than their normal down days when anxiety or depression gets to be too much to hold inside - it sounds worse. Worse.

“Everything okay?” Gingerly, he fidgets with his cards, too confused to keep eating.

“It’s fine,” Tim says more forcefully.

Nick huffs quietly. “It doesn’t  _ sound _ fine,” he answers. Tim sounds on the verge of either an anxiety attack or crying, and Nick has only helped him through the former, before.

“Well, what do you want me to say?” Tim hisses, “I feel like a piece of shit? I need to play more soloQ? I fucking inted draft?” 

“You know, the loss wasn’t your fault,” Nick murmurs, “you played well.”

“That’s what they all say.” 

Only after a few long moments does Nick manage to regain his composure. “Tim, you played well, I’m not joking. You know I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Tim mutters. Then, to someone else, he nearly snarls, “Leave me alone.” It must be someone else, like Nick, trying to comfort him after the loss, but Tim all but screams at them to leave him alone. “I’m going back to the house,” he says, though Nick can barely hear him through the loud clatter of his headset hitting the desk.

But he doesn’t disconnect the call.

Nick doesn’t have any sight of Tim, since their call is pure audio and no face-to-face talk, so he doesn’t know where his friend actually is, just that there’s assorted murmuring in the background and someone - Oskar? - calls Tim’s name, and very distantly a door slams shut, and then there is another voice on the line.

“Um, hello, who is this?” Rekkles asks politely.

Nick says an equally polite greeting in return.

“Oh! Nice to meet you.” The rumours really are true: Rekkles is immediately charming. “Sorry about Tim. I think he’s rather upset.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Nick laughs, though secretly he’s terribly worried.

Rekkles chuckles back in a weakly humourous tone. “Yeah,” he says, “Sorry to interrupt you as well, but he just walked out of the house, so… I thought I should let you know what happened.”

“You’re fine. Thanks for letting me know.”

“No problem.” Softly, Rekkles chuckles in that way he does, the way that Nick knows draws fangirls to him like wildfire. He does his best to resist and succeeds pretty well. After all, there’s someone else in his heart already, probably panicking and on the verge of tears but still solidly present in Nick’s thoughts and hopes. “I’ll shut down his computer now - I doubt he’ll be coming back tonight, and if he does, I’m sending him home again. SoloQ is not good for him right now.”

“Is that what he was doing?” Nick asks with sudden realisation. The irritation, the frustration, the quiet and persistent mouse-clicks… it makes sense, now.

“Yeah,” Rekkles murmurs, “that’s what he’s always doing. Even when he really should be resting or eating or taking a break… Taking care of him is like babysitting, honestly,” Rekkles jokes, sounding like a tired but proud dad of a problematic but good-hearted son. “He’ll be a good captain one day. He works hard.”

“He does,” Nick agrees. “He really does.”

“Thanks for talking with him all the time, by the way. He seems more happy and confident now, and I think you have something to do with that. So thank you.”

Nick just blinks. “Oh, uh, you’re welcome, I guess? I’m glad it has a positive influence.”

“It really does have a great influence. You two seem really good for each other,” Rekkles adds, his tone both happy and envious. “Ah, but I’m keeping you longer than I should. I’ll hang up now so you can call his phone. Thanks and sorry again.”

“Yeah, no problem. Bye.”

“Bye.”

\---

Ten minutes pass while Nick grabs food and more water and sets up his computer for a little bit of LCK work, anxiously checking the clock. He forces himself to wait ten full minutes before calling Tim.

The instant the clock ticks over, Nick is ready, and immediately calls Tim.

“Hey,” Nick murmurs, happy to see that Tim not only answered his call but answered it with video, shakily positioning his camera so Nick can see Tim’s face without Tim having to hold his phone up the entire time.

“What do you want,” Tim grumbles gruffly. Nick smiles at him anyway. It’s already hard for Tim’s sleepy eyes and fluffy hair and soft-looking lips to look intimidating; it’s even harder when he’s in bed, surrounded by thick blankets and a singular teddy bear with the same red ribbon Nick had sent it with.

Nick shrugs. “Just wanted to know how you were feeling. If you wanted to talk. What you’re worried about. If you have plans for the next few weeks.”

“First answer, bad,” Tim states blandly. “Second, only with you. Third, everything. And fourth, no.”

“Okay,” Nick says without pressure or any intention of pushing Tim along. He returns to eating. Seeing Tim’s face, even if the knot in Tim’s brow is upsetting, at least soothes Nick’s worries enough to let him regain his appetite, especially since he can see Tim’s expression relax into sad sleepiness despite the relatively early hour of the night in Berlin.

While Nick eats, Tim slowly settles into his bed. The camera angle adjusts to better rest on whatever Tim has propped it up against - probably a spare pillow - and his duvet inches up around him until he’s bundled in a white cloud, only interrupted by the soft brown teddy bear and a sliver of his black Fnatic jersey peeking out. “What do you want,” Tim asks again, but his voice is so flat it doesn’t sound like a question at all.

“Nothin’,” says Nick through a mouthful of noodles. “We can just chill.”

Softly, Tim lets out a long, deep sigh, muffled by the blankets drawn tightly around him and the teddy bear in his arms.

Nick lets the silence return, then, like a mental replica of the plush duvet Tim has sunken his body into, gently hugging them both even though they’re half a world away from each other. It brings catharsis, like fresh rain over a dusty city or a cool breeze in the midst of a jungle summer.

Nick doesn’t comment when Tim’s eyes turn red and watery. He knows how Tim feels.

“‘m sorry,” Tim murmurs, after probably fifteen minutes or so of sniffling and watching Nick type away at a spreadsheet for LCK on another monitor. “I’m always wasting your time.”

Again surprised, Nick pops his head up from his work. “What?” He’s not sure - did he really hear Tim right?

Tim sighs a deep, shaky, tear-soaked breath. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Nick says softly, gazing into the camera to help his words reach Tim’s heart. “You played well. Don’t apologise.” When Tim starts to stutter another apology, Nick continues. “Yes, you made mistakes, but everyone does, and it’s okay. I know-” He sighs at the irony of his next words. “I know you’re not a robot,” Nick says, smiling kindly at the camera that transmits his countenance to Tim, “it’s only natural to make mistakes. Everyone does. And even if you don’t think you played well,” Nick adds, not letting any point made by Tim’s distraught mind slip through, “I’m happy to help you get to a point where you feel better. You’re not a waste of my time. You’re  _ never  _ a waste of my time.”

On Nick’s monitor, Tim shivers with sobs like he’s freezing even under the blankets. “I still played bad,” he murmurs, sounding remarkably stable despite the tears rolling down his cheeks, “I mis-positioned and mis-played and lost. I didn’t carry at all.” He dries the wetness of his eyes on a corner of his duvet. Saltwater stains the pure white duvet a light, dirty grey. “The fans probably hate me.”

Nick scoffs, though without his usual sharp wittiness, respectful - maybe more? - of Tim’s sorrow. “Reddit will be too busy circle-jerking over Bwipo’s inting."

“They’ll still talk about how bad I am.”

“So what?” Nick says, “so what? Okay, Tim, who do you trust more - Reddit, or yours truly?” His smirk tests the waters, attempting to discern whether Tim feels okay enough to joke a little bit or if the sadness of the loss is still too pervasive.

A smile on Nick’s monitor.

It’s a small, slight, little thing, one of those tiny smiles that only Tim can manage to use with full effect, but it is indeed a smile.

It practically makes all Nick’s worry fade away.

“Come on, which analyst do you trust?”

“You, of course,” Tim says through that cute half-smile.

“Then there you go,” Nick says with his own bright smile. “The analyst you trust says you did well and you shouldn’t get as worked up about it as you are.”

Tim smiles, sniffles and snuggles deeper into his bedding, hugging the teddy bear, a gift from Nick for Christmas. “Thanks,” he murmurs after a few minutes.

Nick grins back at him even more happily. The silence between them warms like blankets after a few minutes of body-heating.

Both of them snuggle into it, embracing it, enjoying it, letting it keep them close despite their physical distance, letting it hang in the air in the same way silence fills the best mornings with loved ones, all just as sleepy.

Tim is still saddened, to be sure. Nick would be lying, too, if he said he was happy. But for now?

The silence between them is comfortable enough. It will do for now.


End file.
